The Ones Left Behind
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: With war darkening the Weasley family's doorstep, Arthur always at work, three young children in need of constant supervision, and twins on the way, Molly Weasley is exhausted.


Molly checked the clock again and sighed.

His hand still pointed to Mortal Peril, just as the four others did.

Molly had just hoped that their meeting would be done by now.

She glanced down at her knitting basket, where two new hands lay, gleaming silver in their misuse. At the moment, their portrait slots were empty, but as Molly instinctively placed her hand on her growing belly, she knew she didn't have long to wait. Already, she had felt the kicks — it was what had made them realise that there were two new additions to their ever-growing family, and not one.

A welcome surprise at the time, but now Molly felt a wave of weariness wash over her. Pausing in her knitting, she allowed herself a moment of weakness, closing her eyes and letting the despair take hold.

She didn't know how long she could last.

* * *

Light dawned through the slits in the shutter, filtering through the cracks onto Molly's face. Groaning, she blinked the sludge from her eyes, wondering what it was about this pregnancy that took more out of her than the others. She stretched, her right hand dangling over the edge of the bed, her left meeting the cold covers next to her.

Her heart clenched.

That was why.

Wrapping his dressing gown around her made her feel closer to her husband, but at the same time, she had never felt more alone. At least she could be thankful that Arthur was conscientious of her feelings. A Patronus had arrived in the night, reassuring her that he and Fabian and Gideon were okay, but that something had come up. An opportunity to deal the enemy a harsh blow, though he didn't dare say what at a distance.

Still, she waddled down the stairs as quickly as she could, resorting to walking sideways like a crab so as to properly see the steps. Rushing into the living room, she breathed a small sigh of relief. She and the boys were still positioned at Mortal Peril, but Arthur's portrait rested on Work. Her husband was fine and the Ministry still held strong.

For another day, at least.

Suddenly, an acrid stench hit her nostrils. In her worry and fear, she must not have noticed, but now that a portion of her mind was unoccupied, it hit her like a slap. A fire? Had someone managed to get through the Floo? She was not overly worried, not with the Fidelius Charm keeping the Burrow safe, but if someone had lost control enough to burn the carpet beyond the grate, then Molly was right to be anxious.

But the fire wasn't even lit, and the living room was as tidy as could be with three young boys.

Molly made her way to the kitchen, and the sight she was met with nearly broke her heart.

'I made breakfast, Mummy,' Bill said as he looked up, a bright smile on his face.

She hadn't heard him slip out to collect the hens' eggs — one of his daily chores — and that alone worried her. But she had more pressing issues at hand. Somehow, her seven-year-old son had managed to drag a stool to the stove and crack the eggs straight onto the hot surface above. Their blackened appearance was evidently the source of the smell.

'Oh, Bill, dear,' she murmured, hurrying to her eldest's side and quickly checking for burns.

She had taken to leaving wood burning in the stove to heat their large home, alleviating the constant strain on her magic now that Arthur was too busy to help around the house. She had never thought about the consequences for her children.

Idiot, she thought, but she was careful not to let the word slip, lest Bill's sharp ears hear and think he was the intended target. Satisfied that the boy was unharmed, she gathered him into a large hug, and if it was a little tight, Bill did not protest.

'Thank you,' she said, kissing the top of his head. 'That was very kind of you. Why don't you check on your brothers, and then we'll have a bite to eat?'

Bill beamed and ran off.

Molly felt the smile slip off her face as he left. He had only been trying to help. But by the time she had waved her wand to wipe the mess away and cast Gemimo enough times to have an adequate amount of eggs for the day, it was as if she'd not got any sleep at all.

* * *

Percy was crying again.

It wasn't his fault. He'd had a bad case of the Mumblemumps and the swelling in his throat, along with the teething, was enough to make anyone miserable.

As she fed him the warm purple medicine, Molly cooed to him, listening to his mumbled moans, which were made even more incomprehensible with his illness. Luckily, Fabian had swiped some potions from the Ministry's stock and gifted them to her on his last visit, reassuring her that most of them went unused. After all, hardly any adults caught the Mumblemumps, and when they did, the childhood remedy was practically ineffective.

Still, Molly imagined all of the rescued Muggleborn children, having to suffer so that her boys could grow up in relative ease. She vowed to herself to bake an extra batch of gingersnaps for Arthur's next Order meeting — someone would get it to the medi-witches and -wizards deployed at the Ministry.

She sighed — she seemed to be doing a lot of that recently — and ran a hand through her frazzled hair once the bottle was finished. Now that Percy seemed to be calming, she ran the list of things she needed to do.

Bill urgently needed new clothes, or at least his old ones needed repairing. They had put it off for too long, but she hadn't the time to go to Diagon Alley, and Arthur barely made it back for the evening meal before he had to go out again. Charlie badly needed a trim; his wavy, wispy hair was long enough to reach halfway down his neck, and he kept tugging on it. Percy's nappies needed washing, the garden needed de-gnoming, and the house needed a deep clean before the midwife came to check on the twins.

None of these tasks were particularly arduous, but she had been putting them off time and time again, and now it seemed as though the minutes were running out. Eventually, she noticed that Percy had dropped off to sleep, and she gently laid him back in his crib, tucking the covers around him to create a warm nest. A flick of her wand made sure that the crib was shielded — she couldn't have him fall out like last time — and she was off, toddling down the stairs again.

At the bottom, she had to pause for breath. Seven months pregnant, and she couldn't whir about the house as if she were on wings the way she was used to. Instead of abating, the stitch in her side became unbearable, and beads of sweat began to collect on her forehead. An ache at the back of her head told her a stress headache was coming on, but she didn't have time to even make a cup of tea.

Pushing past the pain, she took up her basket and grasped the handle of the front door, ready to face the annoying little critters. Maybe a few gnome tosses would ease the pain.

She hadn't even taken one step before she tripped over something, and her whole world narrowed down to the instant where she nearly crashed to the floor, onto the precious lives she held within. Breathing deeply through her fear, she turned to take her anger out on the inevitable child's toy, but her fury faded when she saw Charlie lying half-awake on the front step.

'Charlie!' she nearly shouted, the adrenaline flowing back into her veins as her stomach tightened. She all but fell next to her middle child as he looked sleepily up at her. 'What have you done to yourself?'

The angry words belied her frightened tone. Charlie's bright orange hair was matted with red, an angry gash blooming across his forehead. Casting her eyes about, Molly spotted the toy broomstick, its handle shattered. He must have been playing unsupervised, and crashed into the wall.

'Charlie, how long have you been here?' she asked urgently, struggling to lift him in her arms and dashing to the kitchen and her first aid kit.

He moaned, mumbling under his breath.

'Charlie?' Molly asked, slathering on the healing salve. By Merlin, if my child dies because of my inattention… she berated herself, feeling her pulse quicken and the tears prick at her eyes. 'What did you say?'

'Didn't want to bother you,' he replied quietly, looking at his feet as though waiting for her to tell him off.

The dam that had been building for the past few months burst, and Molly clutched her middle child, quieter than his brother and yet just as thoughtful as the tears flowed freely.

'Molly! Molly, quick, ask me my question,' Arthur called, the panic evident in his voice at the sight of the front door wide open. His bag dropped to the ground with a thump as Molly's sobs grew louder. 'Molly, what happened? Where are the other boys?'

'I just got hit on the head, Daddy,' Charlie said, confused at his mother's attentions and more than a little embarrassed. 'I'm fine, really.'

'Molly?' Arthur asked, placing a warm hand on her arm.

'I… I know how important the… Order is, Arthur,' Molly said between hiccoughs, feeling the urge to get everything off her chest. 'But… I just can't, I can't… go on with things the… way they are.'

'Whatever do you mean, Mollywobbles?' Arthur asked, the concern evident in his voice.

'The children… the pregnancy… we're already short on money.' Molly sniffed, not even knowing what she was saying, knowing that stringing them together didn't mean they made sense.

'Are you only worried about that?' Arthur asked, and the relief was evident in his voice. 'Merlin's underpants, Molly, I thought you'd been attacked! I can just ask for more work at the Ministry; you know that the department's up to its eyeballs and… Molly? Molly?!'

But Molly couldn't hear him. The prospect of Arthur being around even less than before made her head swim, her ears deafened by a high-pitched wine. A pain started in her stomach, then spread downwards, until it felt as though she was on fire. Too early, she thought, but she couldn't remember why. Too early for what?

She blinked as Charlie came in and out of focus, and then she fainted.

* * *

When Molly came to, she was surrounded by unfamiliar feelings, unfamiliar smells and unfamiliar mutterings.

'Wh—' she started to ask, raising her head from her pillow, but sudden, agonising pain in her stomach made her stop.

'Don't sit up yet,' Arthur said soothingly, his grip tightening around her hand now that she was awake.

Molly lay back in confusion as her husband smoothed back her hair. Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to her and her hand flew to her stomach.

'The twins!' she cried, twisting herself out of bed before Arthur could do anything to stop her. Before she had taken two steps, she fell, her stomach feeling as though it had been ripped open.

'They're all right!' Arthur said loudly, hastily, as Healers entered the room with tuts of disappointment. 'They're fine! Just a little hasty in their effort to see the world.'

Molly felt herself grow limp with relief, allowing the Healers to levitate her back up onto the bed. As they busied around her with pristine white bandages, she clung to her husband's hand, staring at him, willing him to answer her questions.

'They're just with the child Healers now,' Arthur said, correctly interpreting her gaze. 'We'll have them back any moment. Our Fred and George.' He smiled warmly, the joy evident in his face, before it crumpled. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry I left you; I'm sorry that it took me this long to notice how much has been on your plate. It wasn't right of me. But I'm here now. And I hope that's enough.'

Molly wanted to protest, to say that the war came first. It's what she was expected to say, what she should have said. Instead, what she felt in her heart of hearts bubbled to the surface, and she found her saying entirely different words instead.

'Thank you.'

* * *

Word Count: 2105

QLFC Captain Prompt: write about Molly Weasley

Hogwarts assignment 4: DADA Task Two: Write about someone fainting during an event.


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